


I Promise

by bwry_writes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Fluffy Ending, Gore description, Injury, Other, Panic Attacks, UA- the junkers join overwatch, Warning:, basically junkrat remembers things he doesn’t want to, the bois talk about the elephant in the room for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28840281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwry_writes/pseuds/bwry_writes
Summary: When Zenyatta asks about his arm, Junkrat’s wary.However, after learning that the omnic wants to be taught about the events of the crisis in Australia, he decides to take it into his own hands to properly educate him. Even if it brings back scraps he’d rather bury in the past.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	I Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Warnings:
> 
> •Gore description and mention. Not a lot of it but still.  
> •Panic attacks  
> •PTSD-like themes.
> 
> If you enjoy this please check out my tumblr: bwry-writes. Where I will happily talk about my fics and OW in general.
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated, as well as any constructive criticism! <3

Everyone asked about his arm and his leg.

After all, he realised quite early on that it isn’t a normal occurrence to see someone with half their body turned into prosthetics. Apart from Genji. But he counted more as a cyborg and omnic more than something that would stand out. No one asks someone how they lose their own body. On the other hand, them meeting him made them question a lot; first sceptical questions when he joined, mostly from McCree and Soldier, but they slowly trickled into more simple and innocent curiosity. He fancied the attention after all.

He never had any trouble telling them about his leg. A blush might creep on to his face and he may shuffle uncomfortably, because after all the missing limb is, in fact, his damn fault. But that is it. Plus he survived! And the explosion looked spectacular despite the pain! He’d simply been making one of his first bomb prototypes at the fine young age of thirteen, or maybe, fourteen? He couldn’t quite tell. But whatever the matter he’d been a young bloke who’d been a bit too curious for his own good. He’d tossed the mine on the floor and forgot about it until he sprinted outside the next day, grin rapidly fading into a look of pure pain, eyes wincing as he yelled out for any sort of help.

However, when someone asks about his arm. That’s another whole story on its own. One he didn’t feel much nostalgia about at all.

So if anyone asked he’d laugh, point to something else, anything else and if that didn’t work he’d say he could tell them later. That always did the trick! He could recall the first time Tracer asked him and the way he’d accidentally flinched before running off and saying he had an emergency and he’d tell her tomorrow. She never did ask again after that. He couldn’t tell if she simply got the message, or forgot completely. Knowing the girl, he theorized perhaps the latter considering how on the move she could be.

But now someone asked again.

Not the usual harass from Dva or Lucio. His two closest friends at Overwatch besides Roadhog. But instead, Zenyatta, of all people.

The omnic had glided almost too stealthily into his room. Nothing making him aware of his presence except from a low electronic hum that echoed against the hollow walls of the workshop. It made him jump, causing him to let out a strangled yelp as he spun around, only to be met with the closed eyes of the omnic, boring into him somehow.

“G’day mate... Anything, anything I can, heh, help ya with?” he’d offered. If he could do anything he wanted without consequences, he would have told the piece of scrap to buzz off. But the other’s had made it abundantly clear that if he wanted to be with them, he needed to treat everyone with kindness. No matter their metallic exterior.

Zenyatta seemed to pause in thought for a moment as if forgetting why he’d come here too. His shining form edged closer, as he put up on hand and waved it round in a circular movement. “Greetings.”

Nothing. No further explanation.

Junkrat burst into a giggling fit. Not that he particularly wanted to... But the silence practically begged him to be filled and nothing brought him more joy than all things unapologetically random. He slammed his wrench back on the table, slapping one hand on his head. Right, right. Get it together, Jamison. His giggling subsided, instead replaced with a rasped sigh as he focuses back on the bot.

Zenyatta continued to watch the display without any visible appreciation. Looking more and more like a teacher waiting for class to be quiet. Which did not help with his laughter.

“What is funny?”

“Nothing. Just you and yer antics mate,” he commented finally, wiping the tears from his eyes as he began to calm down. “What bring you ta my humble abode anyway? Can’t be for m’ company I suppose, maybe some spare parts? I got plenty right here so feel free to pick and choose.”

Zenyatta shook his head. “No thank you. I came to ask about your arm.”

Oh.

He momentarily froze in place; one arm leaning his body in an uncomfortable position against the workbench. People would ask about the topic mostly in a light-hearted sense, often just passing comments. But this is different. The omnic came specifically out of his way to ask now. The gesture so bold it came across almost threatening under the flickering lights of the workspace. Zenyatta seemed to sense how unnerving it may be, taking a drifted step away and holding up a hand to symbolise peace.

He didn’t trust it, however.

“My apologies if that is a weird topic. Perhaps I did not think this through,” the omnic tittered in a sound that mimicked a sigh through teeth. Motherly, almost. But he never brought it.

“Nah, perhaps ya didn’t,” he replied through his own gritted teeth. Cold and harsh, he knew. But he didn’t want Zenyatta knowing about his weakness anytime soon, especially when it’s just them alone like this. He couldn’t be trusted not to take advantage of him like the rest. “So anything else? Or, um. Heh. That it?”

Zenyatta didn’t answer. Instead, moving towards the table full of laid out scrap in front of him. Trained fingers gliding over the many assortments like a careful ballerina, weeding out one particular piece of scrap against the rest. Bringing it up and into the light amongst the dust that danced idly around his silhouette, looking closer. He wanted to storm over and give the robot a piece of his mind for touching his things. But what he grasped made him choke. Zenyatta’s hand held up an old omnic part, specifically a part of a limb, the wires spasming under his touch as a faint blue electric pulse could be seen running through the metal.

“I noticed the material of your arm. It is not homemade, I take it? I recognise it as part of the old omnic models in Australia,” Zenyatta stated as calmly as one would state the weather. “It is not meant for prosthetic use.”

No. It isn’t. But if the bot only knew how harsh the conditions had been, he may understand a bit better. He shook his head, a growl clawing it’s way up to his throat unconsciously. After all the hurt they’d caused him, Zenyatta had the nerve to start poking into his business?!

“I think it’s best you leave, mate!” he whispered, a warning grin playing across his face. Resting. Waiting. “And do some research to whilst your at it, eh? Don’t wanna bring all that nonsense up with Roadie, I tell you! The big lug’s forgivin’ but when you get on is’ bad side you don’t get out. Why I remember...”- wait. He stopped himself. He didn’t need to share anything with the bundle of scrap after all. “Er, nevermind.”

“I did,” Zenyatta spoke softly in a quiet hum. He placed the piece of scrap back carefully on the table, after examining further.

“You... did what?”

“I researched,” he replied, in almost an electric huff. “But it appears that every weblink I could find was biased. I did not scan any sources or interviews with the Junkers themselves, that’s until I thought to ask you of course!” His tone practically a smile in itself. “But if you are against the idea I will happily return to work.”

He began to mull it over.

It’s a pleasant surprise to learn that the omnic had bothered to learn about the topic. But his intentions, however, were still a blanket of mist. He’d humour the bot for now, warily though.

“Alright, alright. But ya better not use this f’ any weird reasons! Like, I don’t know... um... manipulation! Or mind control!” he blurts out, before hastily moving from the workbench and over to the only two chairs they kept in the place. They were rusted and ancient, but he didn’t care and hoped Zenyatta would feel the same. After finally reaching them, he sat on the first, wincing as it creaked, whilst patting on the other chair with a few good taps and a smile. Enough to get the message across.

Zenyatta floated over with such a sense of royal grace compared to himself, he started to see his stance as peasant-like in comparison. The omnic whirred as he hovered above the chair before sitting down cross-legged on top of it, seeming comfortable enough.

How is this going to work again? He squirmed in his seat, fingers rapping against the side of the metal framing. “Do you want’ me to just sit and answer these questions? Or?”

“If that’s okay with you,” Zenyatta says, staring off to the side. Perhaps in thought. Suddenly the bot let out a short chuckling sound, chest moving in such a humanistic way, Junkrat began to wonder if his designers had meant for it to look that creepy. He leaned away. “It’s not often, I am taught by a young one like you. With Genji especially, he’s always the one to keep quiet.”

“Yeah. Must be pretty odd I s’pose! Lucky for ya I’m an excellent teacher,” he says, puffing out his chest. “What did you wanna know first?”

The omnic made a thinking noise, lifting one hand to place a light finger against his chin, the metal clinking. Junkrat began to wonder if the omnic could feel the gesture. Probably could, but not on a good scale-like his hand, the only thing his hand can feel is harsh pressure from an explosive or lifting heavy objects. Zenyatta emits a clicking noise before whirring back into action. “How old were you when the crisis occurred?”

That’s a tricky one.

He can vaguely remember hearing the first trickle of news surrounding the topic. He must have been five, maybe six at the time and all the elders in their town kept gathering meetings in the town hall and discussing in hushed tones as the kids piled up against the door to listen. They said ‘it’s serious.’ That it’s ‘going to  
change the world.’ He never knew what “it” defined as a young lad until he grew up. Then he realised they must have been talking about the destruction of the fusion core, or perhaps the omnics themselves.

The omnics and soldiers didn’t roll around until a few weeks later. In his sleep. His mother, or a guardian—he couldn’t remember—crashed into his door, shaking him awake with a shout. His head hurts as he tries to think about afterwards, squeezing his eyes shut. The streets were full of screams, rickeshaing of the buildings like bullets from a machine gun, he could remember that much. Stained red sand beneath his feet. Crying. Being bundled into a truck like cargo as they fought to get away.

“Are you alright?”

Zenyatta’s voice yanks him from his thoughts.

Suddenly he’s hyper-aware of how zoned out he must look, shuffling in his seat to face the bot. “Yeah! Just gimme a second to think mate!” Looking down, he can see his hands shaking. Dammit. He can’t show Zenyatta how weak he is. “I think I may have been five or six. Real scrawny lil guy! I practically had the whole outback stuck in my hair. Heh. All the adventures we’d go on n’ all!” he replies, releasing a short giggle despite Zenyatta’s unmoving features.

“How did you react to the crisis? That’s rather young to be dealing with such matters,” the bot says, a twinge of worry noticeable in his tone. After a moment goes by he adds, “If you’re uncomfortable at any moment please ask me to stop.” The phrase is passive, but he can’t help but take it as a challenge. Why would Zenyatta of all people care about his feelings anyway?

“Course’ I will. If you step too fire I’ll notify ya right away!” he says, cackling at his pun. Zenyatta sighs. “Sorry, sorry, eh, nevermind.”

His mind travels back in time once more. After all, Zenyatta could never force the info out of him. He shuddered. Could he? ‘No that’s silly’, he reminds himself after awhile. Instead, he starts to focus on after the crisis when life is just starting for the junkers once more.

They’d kept all the children together in a big tent to start off and someone to watch over them in shifts. They each slept in ripped sleeping bags or fire blankets, not a single person living in luxury as the war began outside.

Rations were harsh in those days- he recalled. More often then not they’d be fed fish starting to rot from the local river and if anyone became particularly hungry without food, you were given gum instead. Lot’s of gum. He recalled once having to pick the stuff from his gums with a small twig ultimately leading to more splinters than he could count. No toothbrushes or paste to save them then. No shoulders to cry on when things got tough. A weird life to live, for sure.

His main reaction being confusion and an overwhelming sense of unfairnes, he thought. The events unfolding before their eyes were never expanded on. The answer always being ‘omics’ and nothing else. Occasionally the talk of ‘corrupt government’ but at the time he had no clue whatsoever about that, let alone the definition of government.

“Omnics,” he muttered out loud, unaware he’d even spoken the words before noticing the way Zenyatta hummed.

“Did your parents or guardians fight against them?”

“My dad worked for the ALF!” Wait... Did he?! He didn’t even mean to say that. He couldn’t remember either of his parents, let alone their occupation. But his dad working for the ALF made sense in a way, so he decided to roll with it, the words surprisingly not feeling like a lie upon his tongue. “Judging by me, he must ‘ave been a real fighter! Explosives, guns, going out with a bang, you name it!”

Zenyatta chuckled. “I can imagine.” He turned towards him and placed a hand in mid air between them, holding out one of his orbs. “I’ve noticed you like to fidget. Would this help?”

“Erm, won’t it, y’know, turn into a ball of destruction or whatever ya named it?”

“It’s safe,” Zenyatta said before releasing an almost robotic giggle. “Only I can channel the energy that runs through them. I assure you.”

He gave a moment of hesitation before reaching out his arm and grabbing it. After a few seconds of calm and without any sort of signs of betrayal, the ball stayed completely passive. The metal made it feel heavy in his gloved palm but also soothing as his oiled fingertips traced the engraved patterns swirling around it, making a grin etch its way across his face despite his desperation to stay on guard. A fleeting thought that maybe this is good crossed his mind, however, he quickly batted the thought away with a huff. This is Zenyatta’s way of messing with him. He needs to stay sharp.

“You can keep it if you’d like. I have many others,” Zenyatta said, waving his hand in the air before staring at him a bit longer. “You can also investigate it. I feel like that’s something you would enjoy doing. Taking it apart.”

“Yer right there, mate! I know I shouldn’t, but I often steal scrap from tha’ others even though they gimme everything I need. Old habits die hard I guess!” He let out a bubbling laugh before stopping himself. Why was he telling him this?

“I advise you not to steal, Mr Fawkes. But I appreciate that this is not the environment you're used to,” Zenyatta responded, before leaning in a bit closer. “May I ask you a few more questions?”

“‘Course.”

“Wonderful. Once again if you have an issue-

“I know, I know!” he simmered. He knows acting up like this is technically rude, but hated the thought of waiting through the whole pity parade again. “Please.”

“Okay. I just wanted to know, for clarification....” he buzzes. “Is the crisis the reason you avoid me?”

The question hits like a ton of bricks.

He spins the orb around in his hand, fingernails scraping against it in a chorus of pained cries. Stop. Stop. Stop. His vision starts to turn bright scarlet, veins boiling as he chokes down a panicked breath. Breath, mate, breath. In the far distance, he can hear Zenyatta’s voice trying to calm him, but he blocks it out and carries on attempting to catch up with his breath as it raced against his heart, threatening the tears starting to spill. He wanted to stop himself before he exploded, but he couldn’t find the way.

He burst. “IS THAT WHY YOU’VE COME HERE?! TO START A FIGHT?”

Zenyatta backed away, gripping the sides of the seat, however still managing a calmed tone. “No, I-

“BECAUSE... THE REASON I AVOID YA AIN’T TO DO WITH THE CRISIS! It’s... It’s! Because I can sense you tryna prove something! You’re trying to prove your innocent!” he snapped. In a blur he stood up. Looking back he could see the chair hitting the floor, did he do that?

“Mr Fawkes.”

“What ya gonna do?! Make fun of me! Take my han-” He stopped himself. “Nothing but a piece of scrap!”

Zenyatta zipped upwards before gripping both of his arms. A low hum of disapproval rising as he fought in his touch. But Zenyatta stopped him. Of course he could, he snickered, he’s an omnic. The thought made him laugh; a strangled noise that flung its way up his throat like a grenade as Zenyatta caused a warm light to emit from the orb in his hand.

After a few minutes, he started to back down. Losing more and more energy to keep on fighting back. Zenyatta’s grip, he soon realises, is more of a hug than anything and both his arms could be felt light against his back, confirming the notion.

“They took your arm?”

He snorts back goop from his nose. The realisation that tears were leaking from his face made a venomous warmth spread across his features. But he continued to show his strength, however, mustering up enough of it to mutter out a weak but meaningful reply. “They took everything! Ha. Kinda funny when ya think about it! What a blast we had trying to fix their mistakes.” Silence except for his snotting howls. “Do ya get it- because the omnium-

“I know.”

“And they wanted PEACE! Wouldn't ya know! Didn’t look like it when they knocked me on the floor as a young little guy. Ripped it straight off! The blood, mate. I can still see it!” he cackled into the silence of the workshop. “What a show! Didn’t know the human body could look quite like a party popper as it did then. AND some people get offended that I took one back off ‘em! Hilarious, right?” He shrieked, lifting his mechanical hand and reaching behind to show the bot, finger spreading wide as he flickered them in almost a jazz motion.

The omnic didn’t move. Didn’t speak. It’s probably the quietest he’s ever seen him. That alone sent alarm bells ringing in his head, but they were drowned out by the explosive mania of flashbacks shooting through his skull. Stop. He never wants to remember. Forget it. Forget it. Why can’t he let it go? “The only ‘peace’ they brought me was a peace of their mind. Hah!”

His bellowing laughter transformed into more of a sob the longer the minutes ticked by, ugly sounds that made him hiccup. Throughout it all, Zenyatta kept a firm but forgiving grip around him, seeming not to bothered by the colourful and extroverted display. He became aware all of a sudden on how much he’d messed up the bots back. Trails of sliming tears trickled over his shoulder and into his coat, making the fabric dark and damp.

“I’m sorry. My people should not have done such things,” Zenyatta said, the orb creating a stream of healing directly between them. It made his crying stop at an instant. “But if you give me a chance, I can teach you what we can be. We are more than the hurt and the pain, Junkrat, I assure you.”

The bot released his grip on him, letting him free. He couldn’t help but fall to the floor and scramble backwards, almost stabbing himself in the back with the chair leg. His breath suddenly quickened at a disturbing rate, causing him to spit out a series of unintelligible sounds as his lips and face start to go numb with pins and needles. He can feel himself slipping. The edges of his vision bleeding a sinister black. He doesn’t quite know why he’s panicking. But he can’t seem to stop it either.

Zenyatta must sense something’s wrong. He moves backwards off the chair and more towards the back of the room. “Please, breathe. I did not mean to scare you. Would you prefer for me to get someone else to help you?”

“NO!” As much as he’d like the omnic to leave, he doesn’t want anyone else coming in here and seeing how pitiful he is. They’d laugh. Perhaps even take pictures. That thought alone causes a shiver to drip down his spine. “JUST GO AWAY! Come on! Tick, tick-

“I have been advised to not leave someone if they have a high chance of fainting.”

Of course. Another stupid rule this place held. The light-headed feeling clouds around him, making him slow down a minor bit. Zenyatta stayed at a distance which helped mellow the churning feeling inside him, but he cannot help but keep remembering everything. The complete and utter horror of seeing your own arm away where it shouldn’t be. Like he should still be able to feel it somehow. Sometimes he did in the phantom pains that seemed to plague him, but it didn’t feel as real as in this moment. This made him feel sick. He pressed his back up against the workbench, the metal cooling the hot of his neck in a stinging notion. Looking down, he could also see his chest, heaving up and down in rhythmic flutters.

“Breathe slowly please, it is the only way to help. In through the nose and out through the mouth if you can,” the bot said in almost a whispered tone. “Everything will be alright. You are not in any danger.”

To almost prove the point, Zenyatta rolls the orbs floating around him away and along the floor, also taking a moment to levitate down on the ground and stay still for once, clanking against the hard floor. He breathed in, the safety securing him a little bit more. If the omnic’s truly out to get him, wouldn’t he have kept the weapons? Maybe he meant well after all.

“...M’sorry,” he said, clutching his arms around himself, desperately trying to think straight as he clawed at his last remaining strands of hair. “This doesn’t happen often! Swear! Don’t know what’s got me all riled up.”

“I’m not judging,” Zenyatta replied, focusing on the things around the room instead, turning around his head. “Memories can cause trauma. It is natural. I will not ask you any more if that helps. After all, what you have described to me... It’s...” he trailed off. “No child should have to go through that.” His voice gained almost a croaking buzz to the end of it which quickly dissipated as he made a loud whirring coughing noise. “I care Junkrat and I’m sorry omnics in the past didn’t.”

The sudden gentleness of the scene brought his breathing back to normal as he sucked in the first few breaths. Something struck him then. Because perhaps for the first time, an omnic appeared to notice about what they did to him. Heck, Zenyatta isn’t even one of them that did it in the first place.

“I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, to you of all blokes... But thanks for carin’ Zenyatta.” That’s the first time he’d used the guy’s name. It felt strange. “Perhaps I’ve, well. I’m not wrong! But maybe I’ve sorta kinda mis-judged you in some areas. Heh. And um, sorry for what I said earlier n’ all.”

Zenyatta makes a happy beeping sound. “No worries. I fear I may have been subject to the same thing.” At least it’s not just him. “However, I hope that I am able to stand by and help you in the future to come.” He leans a bit closer then, placing one hand on where his heart would be. “And I promise never to harm you, Jamison Fawkes.”

The statement makes his vision cloudy.

He doesn’t even notice the tears rolling back down his cheeks again and splashing on to the grubby floor of the workplace. The two share a moment of silence. Looking at one another as if something has finally, after all the years, clicked into place.

True, he will never truly trust omnics on the same level as before the incident, but he had someone for once who wanted to understand. Someone who knows he deserves better.

After a few moments, Zenyatta moves first and levitates back off the floor; the orbs zooming back round into a metallic scarf around his neck.

“Anywho, I will let you get on with your work. I’m sure you’ve had enough questions for the day.”

He begins to go towards the door, before being stopped by him.

“Can I ask you a question real quick?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going ta’ tell anyone about what I said?”

The bot laughs. “No. Not unless you’d wish for me to tell. Your business is your business alone Junkrat. I’m just happy I may have been able to assist you!”

“Right, right! Um, see ya around then!”

“Goodbye,” Zenyatta replied, giving a wave of his hand before levitating out through the doors. Just before he went, however, he heard a quick “Thank you again!”

As soon as the doors slam back behind him, he scrapes his chair back down to his desk.

Just as he does so, something glints on the floor, catching his eye and causing him to get up and go pick it up. A few seconds later he realises it’s the orb that Zenyatta gave him. In a hurry, he brings it back on to the desk before deciding what his next project will be, even if it’s a tad smaller than the rest.

It’s a nice change of pace after all.

Picking up a paintbrush and a rusted can of red paint, a few minutes later and after everyrhings set up, he strokes the brush across the orb; A smudgy smiling face in it’s wake.

A single strange thought running through his head the whole time:

_“I care.”_


End file.
